


comfort will come back

by takethebreadsticksandRUN



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: @jonny do not interact, Cuddles!, Healing!, IT'S MY CANON NOW FIGHT ME ELIAS I WILL HUNT YOU FOR SPORT, Jon Being Canonically Adorable!, Light Angst!, M/M, Martin's Crippling Self-Doubt And Dependency On Being Useful!, Non-Sexual Intimacy!, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), am i writing another scottish safehouse fic?, fluff!, get ready for some..., kissing!, last but definitely not least..., yes - Freeform, yes I am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethebreadsticksandRUN/pseuds/takethebreadsticksandRUN
Summary: Martin thumbed through the rest of the small paperback thoughtlessly, watching the words whirl by without recognizing any of them. It was hard to concentrate on the pages, trying to force his brain to follow the logical progression of left to right, top to bottom, page after page. He sighed, leaning against the back of the couch.Daisy’s couch.He was sitting on Daisy’s couch. In her safehouse. Reading her books, Scottish sunlight streaming through the windows while Jon napped in the bedroom.There were so many alarming things about that last thought, Martin didn’t know quite where to begin.ORA conversation after the Lonely regarding comfort and healing.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 30
Kudos: 131





	comfort will come back

**Author's Note:**

> just a quick fyi, in this fic jon and martin actually communicated after the Lonely (shocker right???) and were clear about their feelings for each other. this is set the morning after that night. ig technically they are together?? i mean the lil bit of angst isn't coming from miscommunication or pining, just general, y'know *gestures at season four* everything.  
> enjoy!  
> xxx

Martin thumbed through the rest of the small paperback thoughtlessly, watching the words whirl by without recognizing any of them. It was hard to concentrate on the pages, trying to force his brain to follow the logical progression of left to right, top to bottom, page after page. He sighed, leaning against the back of the couch.

_Daisy’s_ couch.

He was sitting on Daisy’s couch. In her safehouse. Reading her books, Scottish sunlight streaming through the windows while Jon napped in the bedroom.

There were so many alarming things about that last thought, Martin didn’t know quite where to begin. He was out of the Lonely, finally, maybe regretfully. That had been his move. His one thing to contribute was himself, and if he couldn’t give that away, what else did he have to offer?

Jon had nearly died trying to save him. Jon had nearly died so many times before, but somehow this was different. He had risked his life for Martin, of all people, who couldn’t figure out for the life of him why he would do such a thing.

They barely made it out of that place alive, but then again, neither were strangers to Death. Jon had died. Is that what he was calling it now? The opposite of brain dead, his body lifeless and blue while his brain had kept firing, somehow keeping him from dying completely.

Martin set the book aside, trying to shake off the thoughts of all the scars now decorating both their bodies, promises and threats from power-hungry monsters.

So no, he couldn’t focus on a book right now. His thoughts swirled, no longer laced with fog, but twisting nonetheless, trying to reach into the future and pull out a happy ending for the both of them, heaven knows they deserved a break.

It was late afternoon, a fact that was completely irrelevant at the moment. Time didn’t seem to matter here, in this small sanctuary away from the whirlwind of the past few years. Jon was asleep, he could hear his soft snores through the open door.

Martin smiled gently, remembering the night before when they had both collapsed into bed, too tired to do anything but hold each other and whisper _I love you’s,_ Martin’s hair still stiff with salt and Jon’s knees dusted with sand.

They’d need to wash the sheets soon.

Instead of trying to finish the trashy romance novel, Martin stared out the window, memorizing the brown fuzzy shapes in the field beyond. If he listened intently, he could hear faint mooing, the lowing of Highland cattle.

He sighed again, somewhere between contentment and regret. Guilty at how safe he felt, regretting that he couldn’t have done more to save his friends, his family, himself- he always needed someone to save him. Was that a bad thing? Was he weak for needing others to help support him? He had always wanted to be around people, people stronger than him, but rarely had he even been able to fulfill his wishes.

Martin supposed it was his own fault.

If it was, then why, _why_ was Jon shuffling into the room, yawning and stretching, wearing one of _his_ hoodies, gravitating toward Martin like he belonged there?

Jon had always been the sun. Too bright to look at directly, painful if one got too close and touched the flames, but always there in the corner of your eye, somehow life-giving and terrifying at the same time.

Martin was the moon, circling too many planets but never touching, never coming close. He reflected the light of those around him but when the sun dimmed, he was left dull and useless. Good for nothing.

The stars are supposed to follow the same orbits, but some celestial body had shifted, spinning them into each other with such gentle violence Martin couldn’t do anything but watch their collision helplessly, afraid to hope.

“Martin?” His voice was thick with sleep but underneath the roughness of it all, there was an adoration that he wasn’t used to hearing.

He smiled. “Good morning, sleeping beauty. How was your nap?”

Jon collapsed into his side, tucking his feet up under him with a grumble. “Passable. I wish I was still sleeping.”

Martin tucked an arm around him, carding his fingers through his hair. “Don’t we all…”

“You should try it,” he said with a yawn. “Take a nap with me next time?”

“Sure, love.” Martin marveled with the ease that they slipped into this routine, the comfort of being able to love each other. They were two broken people from the beginning, scratched and beaten by too many things to count, but somehow their pieces fit together to create something resembling domesticity.

“What are you thinking about?” Jon asked quietly after a few moments of silence.

Martin sighed, still playing with his hair. “I’m not sure, actually. It’s just a lot to take in, you know?”

He turned his head to rest on Martin’s chest. “Yeah, I do. Would you like to talk about it?”

The way he phrased it was so careful, so tentative to not Ask or Know. “I don’t know how,” Martin admitted. “But I want to.”

Jon hummed thoughtfully. “I know the feeling. Is it something Institute-related, or is it different?”

“A little bit of both, I guess. So much has happened so fast, it’s going to take a while to sort it all out. I’m sorry,” he added as an afterthought, still fearing to take up too much space.

“Don’t be,” Jon said quickly. “I’ll be here for you when you’re ready, alright?”

“Alright.”

Jon stretched up to kiss along his jaw, peppering his face with all the love he could.

“Jon?”

“Hm?

Martin closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of his love beside him. “Can this be the part where things start getting better?”

He felt rather than heard Jon’s sigh. He understood what it meant, knowing it wasn’t disgust at how slow he healed, but rather regret that things had come this far. “Yes,” he said, sitting up. “It can. The future is what we make it, you know.”

Martin laughed. “I know that’s a bunch of bull, but I appreciate the sentiment. I’m glad you’re here with me,” he said seriously. “We can relearn life together.”

“Yes,” Jon agreed, taking Martin’s hand. “You and I, together. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

It was a lie; both of them knew the past had a way of catching up with you.

Neither said anything, content to grow closer together in the silence. After all, what’s the difference between a truth and a lie when you’ve made a religion out of escaping hell, escaping reality?

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked it, please let me know in the comments below!


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